


Going to the Mat

by Rochelle_Rochelle



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Joanlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Rochelle/pseuds/Rochelle_Rochelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a reason they avoid touching each other.<br/>Rating has changed to explicit altho that doesn't happen until the very end of chapter 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The mid-afternoon sun beat down upon them: he, bare-chested and clad in sweatpants, and she, in loose fitting shorts and tank top. Bare feet bounced and twisted on the blue mat they had rolled out onto the roof. Joan and Sherlock circled each other. On rare occasions such as this, they sparred to hone defensive movements. Working on the physical together was more often than not awkward. The size difference and level of expertise did not make them a good match - or so they claimed. Joan and Sherlock shunned physical contact for other reasons they did not care to admit. 

Joan moved forward, threw a leg out, and caught him off guard. He tumbled flat onto his back. "Yes!" she hissed at him triumphantly as she moved over him. Her hands forcefully pinned his shoulders to the ground. She plopped on top of him, her legs, barely sheathed in shorts, straddled his naked mid-section. 

Everything stopped. The intensity of the sensation, skin onto skin, shocked both of them. He made no effort to move or get up. She remained immobile on top of him. 

Joan knew him better than anyone, he had said so himself. Hypersensitive to sound, smell, taste, touch ... seeing too much, feeling too much ... Sherlock's days were filled with seeking to control and limit the barrage of stimuli the world threw at him. She realized this unexpected contact must be overwhelming for him and yet, she could not make herself move away. 

Joan wondered how much of her he could feel; could he sense the small contractions of her upper thigh muscles, the tensing of her lower back, the heat that formed quickly where their bodies met. 

Mesmerized, she watched the struggle on his reddened face - eyes firmly shut, lips pressed together into a thin tight line. His abdominal muscles tensed as he tried to regain focus ... tried to regain control. 

She had long ago hypothesized that this sensitivity is why he preferred sex rough and without emotional attachment. The intensity of force and pain dulled his other senses. It brought the acute to normal levels. The lack of emotional connection lessened the impact of touch. 

Her heart ached for him, trapped in a body with which he was in constant battle. Before she could stop herself, she leaned down, closer to him, and whispered in his ear. "Sherlock, it's okay ... Its only me." His body stiffened even more. She kept murmuring in his ear, "Your safe with me ... me, only me." She repeated the mantra softly over and over again until she felt him exhale. She skimmed her face over his stubbly cheek. 

Sherlock felt her move over him, a mixture of body heat, humid from the exercise, mixed with the scent of salty perspiration and sunblock. He inhaled deeply. Joan's face hovered over his. She put her lips on his brow, furrowed with apprehension. Lightly at first and then with more pressure, she lingered there. 

His initial shock at her further touch dissolved in increments and his distress eased. She could feel his breath on her neck slowly regulating from puffs to longer exhalations. Her own body began to relax as well. 

Joan moved down to his closed eyes. Her parted lips formed into a whisper of a kiss upon the lid and she felt the rapid movement of his eye beneath. His breath once again blew hot in quick puffs at her neck. She dragged her lips across the bridge of his nose and bestowed a similar small kiss there. Joan rested her forehead on his momentarily. She could feel his heart beat quickening, tension resurfacing on his face and she pulled her face away away from his. Perhaps this was too much for him. Her intent was not to make him suffer. His pained expression made her move to sit up, to remove herself from him. She was being selfish, she thought.

Joan felt his hands come to her waist. Thinking he was pushing her away, she started to move quickly up and away from him but felt his hands carefully move down from her waist to her hips, easing her back down and holding her in place. 

"Please ... Stay ..." The words were exhaled. His eyes still closed.

"More?" She whispered. His eyes barely opened. He looked at her through an eyelash haze and solemnly nodded yes. Her legs involuntarily clenched around his midriff at his affirmation and his body swelled and tensed beneath her. 

She moved a hand back onto his upper arm, moving it firmly down his well muscled bicep, dragging her fingers across the soft hairs of his forearm until it came to rest on his hand at her hip. 

Her hand took his hand and brought it up before her face, bringing the back of it to her cheek, pressing and holding it there until it relaxed in hers. Joan opened Sherlock's hand in both of hers, massaging his open palm with tiny circular movements of her thumbs, then moving up to stroke each long finger in its turn. 

The pad of his index finger found its way to her lips. Well aware of the level of sensitivity of his fingertips, Joan's actions were slow and gentle. Opening her mouth just a sliver, she caressed his fingertip with her lips. The tip of her tongue slipped through onto the fleshy pad. She took his finger tip just barely into her mouth, lightly grazing it with teeth and tongue, then pulling back. 

Joan realized her eyes were closed, enjoying the sensation. With effort she opened her eyes to find his eyes upon her, taking in every detail of her movement. Their eyes locked and their breathing became heavier with acknowledgment. Looking him straight in the eye, she brought his finger tip once more to her mouth. He felt her warm wet tongue undulating in micro-movements against it, producing waves of need within him. 

Sherlock pulled his finger down and away, dragging his thumb across her swollen lower lip. Joan lightly bit at it as he cupped her face, eyes still wide open to each other. 

Sherlock's other hand moved to her head, removed the band from her hair and scooped itself into her dark tresses as they fell onto her shoulders. He moved her head towards his and was engulfed in the scent of her, her hair enveloping him as her lips came to meet his. 

Joan felt some tight little spring, some too wound mechanism, release it's taut hold within her as his mouth sought hers. Gentle hesitancy disappeared. His fingers, enmeshed in her hair, pushed her tight to him and her body, tongue, lips, all willingly complied. She felt his other hand move down and clench at her bottom sending vibrations through her body that both of them felt. Over stimulation was no longer a concern; she wanted him and her body was letting him know. 

The need for air caused them to stop for a brief moment. Sherlock wiped back the hair from her face and she pulled strands of her hair from his cheek. And just as quickly as they stopped, he moved to find his place in the crook of her neck. Joan moaned and wrapped her arms around and over his head and neck, her lower body grinding into his.

The door to the rooftop inched open as Ms. Hudson, with a tray in her hands, pushed it with her backside. "I thought you two might be ready for a snack by now."

Joan and Sherlock pulled apart. She was off from on top of him, angling her body away from Ms. Hudson out of embarrassment. He sat up, positioning himself between Joan and Ms. Hudson. 

The unflappable Ms Hudson didn't react, she smiled and put the tray down. "I'll just set this here for later." And with that, she turned and left. 

An embarrassed Joan rose and without a word or look, made her way to the door and headed downstairs. Sherlock fell backwards on to the mat; covering his face with his hand, his mind raced with all the possibilities of what had just occurred, none of them good.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Sherlock got downstairs, Joan had left - gone out for a run according to Ms. Hudson. Three hours later she returned, sailing past Sherlock on the way upstairs, pretending to be on her phone. She showered and went to her room and did not come out.

Silhouetted in the blue-white light of the street lamps, Joan stood at the window of her darkened room. She knew she was being immature but she could not face him just yet. She had crossed a line and she had dragged him across that line with her and that was unforgivable.

Her head buzzed with anger at herself while her body kept sabotaging her with the physical memory of the afternoon. Sex between them had been off the table from day one. It was never said out loud but it was well understood. Joan covered her face with her hands. It had felt so right though. Images and sensations flooded back to her making it impossible for her to think, to further berate herself. He will be gracious she thought, but how will he ever trust me again ....

A light knock and the door to her room opened. She did not turn. Her stomached dropped and her pulse quickened but her eyes never left the window. 

Sherlock came in carrying a tray. "I thought you might be hungry." His voice was smooth but she knew him well enough to sense the strain. He placed the tray on the chair by her bed. "Peanut butter and jelly," he whispered and nodded. 

"Thank you." She hoped acknowledgment would lead to his departure. Still she could not look at him. 

He came up to where she stood. She looked small, smaller than usual, as if she were attempting to fold herself into herself and disappear. 

"We are both adults Watson." He chose the direct approach. There was no use skirting the issue. 

Joan cringed and waited for him to continue. 

"We did nothing wrong. There is no cause for shame." 

She lowered her head, slightly angling it towards him. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have forced you ..."

A huff, a hah, escaped his lips. "You think you forced me? ... My dear Watson, where we went, I went willingly." 

Joan felt a little flutter at his use of endearment and fought hard to remain in control. "I don't want this to change our friendship or our work; it's too important to me ..." Her voice faded and still she wouldn't look at him.

Sherlock moved a little closer to her. "We can handle change. We've done well thus far."

No longer able to avoid his gaze, she looked up at him. She felt herself crumbling not knowing what to do, how to react - go forward, retreat, stand still.

Sherlock could see the turmoil in her eyes. He knew her. She so feared losing control that she was lost. He wondered when the last time was that she threw care to the wind and let herself fully go without that strict self editor that ruled her reining her in. Watson had guided him this afternoon through sensations and emotions he had long blocked from himself. He wished he could do the same for her.

His own fear of intimacy rose in his chest; he quelled it for her. He extended his hand, "It's alright, Watson." She stared at his open palm without moving.

Sherlock slowly lowered his hand and nodded, his eyes fixed on the floor. "It's alright ...." He repeated, hesitated a moment, then turned to leave. 

He felt her hand grasp at his arm. Sherlock turned back towards her as Joan's forehead dropped onto his chest. He lowered his lips to the top of her head and gave her time. 

"I don't know what to do. I'm sorry I've brought us here." Joan spoke into his chest.

Sherlock grabbed her by both shoulders and forcefully pulled her away from him. "Look at me," he commanded. Joan raised her eyes to his. "Stop acting like everything is your fault! I am a grown man. I make my own decisions as do you. I regret nothing, do you understand?"

Joan looked stunned, as he continued. "I will respect your wishes if you desire to go back to our status quo, but I will not have you taking on yet another burden of guilt!"

Joan regained her composure. "Let go of me."

Sherlock complied. Embarrassed that he'd lost his temper, he quickly left the room.

 

The world was simpler on the roof. He lay on the blue mat and scoured the sky for stars. Through the haze of light pollution and smog there were none to see but he knew the stars were there just the same. Sherlock was upset with himself for being cross with her. Interpersonal skills were just not within his area of expertise. He felt he let her down. She was probably right to avoid him. The sound of traffic and sirens became faint and the lights of the city faded as sleep over came him.

He awoke sensing he was being watched. Carefully opening his eyes, he saw Watson sitting beside him, her legs tucked in underneath her, her hands folded on her lap.

"How long have you been there?"

"A few minutes." 

"What time is it?"

"A little after midnight."

"Hmm." He didn't know what else to say. 

"I brought a blanket." She picked up the corners of a cream-colored blanket. He watched as she stretched it out and placed it over his feet, slowly dragging it up over his body. He extended an arm outward and she fit herself in on his shoulder and underneath the blanket. His arm loosely encircled her. Neither said a word for a few minutes, adjusting themselves to the closeness, wondering how to proceed, they listened to the slow rhythms of the city street below as it began to wind down for the night. 

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't know if this is right or wrong..... But this is what I want."

He could feel her heart pounding; her body tensed against his. Sherlock knew how difficult this was for her, letting go and not knowing where they would end up.

"It is, is it?" His voice teased. "Well, don't know if its what I want ..."

Joan's head rose quickly from his shoulder to his face, scared and unsure of what he meant. She quickly relaxed and laid back down, suppressing a smile after seeing his silly grimace.

"I mean, you can't toy with my affections in this manner ..." He began rotating his body towards her. "I'm a sensitive man...." 

Joan played along, "Well, then, let's forget the whole thing ..." She pretended to raise herself on one elbow and quickly found herself smothered beneath him, a small laugh escaped her.

"Oh no, you don't ..." He lay on her, face inches away from hers and quickly became serious. He gave her the tenderest of kisses, once, twice and then again. "If you want to stop, if you're unsure, just say so. Nothing will change. You will always be my Watson."

"I'm sure." She stroked his stubbly chin and brought him to her for another kiss. He nuzzled her neck and whispered, "Be warned, I'm a lousy lover." He could feel her smile on his neck.

"Hmm, I don't know, the women leaving your room in the mornings seem pretty content."

Sherlock picked his head up and looked at her smiling face. She looked much more at ease. "I pay them to look happy and say nice things about my prowess." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed. Unable to stop himself he kissed her in mid laugh; and the kiss became intimate and deep.

While his parted lips laid a path of kisses down her neck, his hand reached under her shirt, caressing her abs and moving upwards until it reached her breast. Her nipple found itself brushed and teased by his finger tips. He watched as she tried to control her body. "It's alright. Let go ... You're with me ..." his whispers brushed her skin and a soft moan escaped her lips. 

Sherlock unbuttoned her shirt exposing her breasts to the cool air and his entranced eyes. His mouth was suddenly open upon her bare flesh, his tongue and hands forcing louder moans from her. Her hands found their way into his hair and pushed him closer. 

And suddenly just as quickly as he started he stopped and removed himself from ontop her. She looked up wide-eyed with concern only to see him pull the tshirt off his own body and ease his muscled chest onto her. They reveled in the feel of skin on skin. 

His hand returned to her stomach only to crawl its way down under her waistband and move down until his fingers moved between her legs. He found her ready and wanting him. He fondled her enjoying the way she squirmed and pivoted her body towards him. The quickening sliding of his fingers elicited deep groans of pleasure as her body arched towards him. 

Joan felt her shorts being removed and opened her eyes to see his head move down between her legs followed by his plunging deep inside her. She screamed in ecstasy, her thighs tightening and then relaxing, encouraging him. She writhed and he joyfully continued until she breathily called out, "stop, stop." His head jolted up thinking he had hurt her in some manner and met her eyes with fear.

Her hand jutted out to find her shorts; from the pocket she pulled out a packet. Realizing what she was doing, Sherlock sat back on his haunches, his breath ragged and waited for her. Joan sat up and reached for him, pulled down on his sweatpants. Distracted from her task, her hand reached out, encircled and stroked him firmly. His eyes which had been locked to hers, closed at the flood of sensations. Soft sounds now escaped his lips. She found his hand and pressed the condom packet in it for him to open, while her mouth took him in and continued what her hand had ceased. He managed somehow to open the package. It was his turn, "Watson, stop ... stop." He handed her the condom.

Her task completed, she lay back down taking her with him. He moved himself inside her as she moaned in pleasure. He followed suit as she tightly hugged at him with each thrust, her hips jutting up to meet his. The sensation escalated until that was all there was the pulsating pleasure of flesh into flesh. The wave could no longer be held back and her orgasm, contracting around him, undulating and pressing him towards ecstasy, brought him to his own release. They lay, he deep with in her, she with her whole body wrapped around him pushing him further into her as the spasms of pleasure wracked her body. 

Slowly their bodies relaxed away from each other. Sherlock found the blanket and covered both of them. He snuggled in to her so comfortably, laying his head upon her bare breast, as if this were a common occurrence, that Joan smiled, caressing his head, smoothing his hair. 

He picked up his head, and looked at her, "We should go work on a couple of cases. Post coital brain activity is..."

Joan interrupted him with a small kiss and a whisper, "No." She moved her body, her leg rubbed up against his.

Sherlock's eyes traversed his partner's face, "Alright." He lay his head back down upon her breast and sighed contentedly. "Give me a couple of minutes."


End file.
